


I choose you

by Cinnamon_for_days



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Marriage Proposal, One Shot, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23719441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamon_for_days/pseuds/Cinnamon_for_days
Summary: When Simon takes Baz on an impromptu trip across the country, Baz has no idea what's happening. Until he does.Proposal!Fic
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 4
Kudos: 103





	I choose you

**Author's Note:**

> I found this in my unfinished list, so I thought that I'd write some fluff to get my mind off all the shit going on in the world. I hope this fic distracts you all from that, if only for a moment. Stay safe!

I didn’t think that Snow was capable of being quiet for more than thirty seconds at once. This was, after all, the man who’d paused a perfectly good kiss to tell me a fun fact that he’d seen on the TV. Several times.  
However, I had clearly been proven wrong. Snow hadn’t said a word since we left London, sitting completely upright behind the wheel in stony silence. He hadn’t even bothered to put on the radio, which seemed to go against all of his past claims that he just _had_ to listen to country music while he was driving, or he wouldn’t be able to focus properly. I think he did it just to piss me off at first (country music was sent from hell, and I will never accept any other opinion), but ended up properly getting into the genre himself after a while. Typical of the tosser.  
He’d been waiting at my flat when I got home from work earlier in the evening, holding a pumpkin mocha breve, which he’d handed me before packing me into the passenger seat of my own car without so much as a word.

Usually in this sort of situation, I’d be worried. A mute Simon driving me to Crowley knows where should be a recipe for concern at any given moment. But whatever it was, I knew that he’d tell me once he worked up the nerve.   
Both of us had been working to improve our communication, and unsurprisingly, we managed. Over the last few years, he’d made slow steps towards where he wanted to be. He was seeing his therapist again, spent his free time baking, and had even secured a part time job at the local Starbucks. It wasn’t easy. Back at the beginning, when we were trying to learn how to be open with each other again, there was screaming, and crying, and days when both of us refused to leave our flats. But the important thing was that, even on the bad days, I’d show up at Simon’s with a bag of scones, or he’d turn up outside my door with a mint Aero. We stopped actively trying to push the other away, and started to walk forward. Together. And that was what made all the difference.

So if it was something I needed to be worried about, I was confident that Simon would tell me in due time. We sat in companionable silence for the rest of the drive, and by the time an hour had passed, his hand was intertwined with mine.

* * *

I knew that I’d decided to give Simon his space, but I couldn’t help but speak up once we reached our destination. By the time I’d woken up from an unplanned nap, we were on a deserted road with absolutely no indicators as to what part of the UK Snow had unceremoniously dragged me to.

“This is beginning to increasingly resemble a poorly planned murder. At least finish me off somewhere classy, not in a forest in the middle of nowhere. You’re bordering on the edge of a cliché.”  
Simon merely switched the suspicious basket he was carrying to his other hand, and looked even more twitchy and uncomfortable than he had before.

“If that basket contains a wooden stake, I feel like I’m obligated to tell you that we aren’t in a shitty vampire movie from the eighties. Or Crowley forbid, Twilight. I might be devilishly good looking, but I’m still a few layers of sleazeball shy of Edward Cullen.”

Snow snorted at that, his nervous demeanour giving way to a more easy smile. He took my hand, and I immediately felt more at ease “If I was planning to kill you, getting into a long term relationship with you is a pretty terrible way to do it. Imagine the paper trail. Forget being caught by the police, Fiona would have me hung drawn and quartered within the hour.”

“You’ve always been unorthodox. And not very clever”

The waning sunlight caught the curls of Simon’s overly long hair from time to time as we walked farther into the woods, still holding hands. I still didn’t ask him what the fuck we were doing in a forest in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps Snow really was planning to kill me. After all, he was convinced that I was his archenemy for more than seven years. He squeezed my hand a little tighter, and I smiled in spite of myself.

Finally, Snow abruptly stopped, stumbling over the uneven ground as he halted, releasing my hand as he placed his basket on the floor. He dithered for a moment, casting sidelong glances at me before reaching inside and drawing out a picnic blanket.

“You could have mentioned that this was a date.” I grumbled, but took the other end of it, helping him settle the blanket over the smoothest part of ground we could find before sitting down next to him. The dew on the grass soaked the fabric of my trousers where my legs were too long to fit, but I barely noticed.

“Any time I spend with you is a date.” He leaned his head on my shoulder, his curls tickling my nose. I laid a gentle kiss buried into his hair, and he giggled. The silent, nervous Simon that I had seen before was gone.

Pointing up at where stars were beginning to peek through the breaks in the clouds, he whispered softly “You told me that I had Ursa Major on my arm.”

“Ursa Minor, love.” I corrected, reaching out, and pulling his arm toward me “Here.”

Gently, I traced my fingers over a pattern of moles, starting at his wrist and finishing just underneath his elbow. It was still odd to me, that I was allowed to do this. Life had somehow been this kind to me. Simon melted into the touch, leaning towards me even more. “It isn’t just that one, anyway. You’re covered in constellations. Covered in stars”

“You always said I was the sun.” He said, pressing his forehead against mine, chuckling when I jumped at the sudden contact. “You don’t recognise this place?”

“What?” I glanced at the silhouetted trees around us, focusing for the first time on something that wasn’t Simon, before turning back to him, confused.

“I suppose it looks a little different when it isn’t on fire.” At my gasp of recognition, he leaned in, and brushed his lips against mine. It had none of the fervour and intensity and _need_ that we had both felt that night, but somehow there was even more affection and love pressed into the gesture than before.

I poked him in the cheek “That wasn’t a kiss.”

“I was working up to that.” Snow poked me right back “You’ve always been an impatient bastard.” He wrapped one arm around my waist, and sunk the other into my hair, messing up the careful style, before pulling me in close, and showing me exactly what he had been working up to.

Later, as we lay on the picnic blanket together under the stars, warm and closely nestled against one another, I asked him “Why the sudden decision to come here?”

“Right. That.” He sat up abruptly, running his hands through his hair, the perfect picture of nerves and apprehension. I blinked at him, and he stared at me for a second before guiding me into a sitting position as well. Clearing his throat, he rooted around in his pockets, causing a packet of gum and his keys to spill out, while smiling sheepishly.

“I wrote notes for this, y’know. And when I planned it and imagined it, I thought I’d be so cool and suave, but now it’s actually happening, I−” He cut himself off abruptly, and grabbed my hands, looking carefully into my eyes. I stared back at him. I had an inkling of what was about to happen, but I could hardly dare hope “You’ve always been in my life when I needed you. Even when I was too dense to realise how I felt about you, and we both fucked around for years pretending to be enemies. And even more recently, when I saw breaking up as the most logical alternative to talking out our feelings. I’ve never been good at feelings. But that night when these trees were burning, I realised how much I need you to be alive. I need you so much. I’m a shit boyfriend, and I hope… I hope that you’ll let me be your shit husband. Baz. You might be a fucking vampire, and a little bit evil, and constantly plotting, but will you marry me?”

He held out a ring box with shaking hands.

For a moment, all I could do was stare at him. As much as I hated to admit it, this very scene had been a constant fantasy for me throughout the whole of Watford. A future which I knew I would never be allowed to have, because I’d always been so sure that my life would end by his hand. That I’d have to live up to the name of Icarus, and take my fall.

“Yes.” I whispered, my voice coming out gritty and hoarse with the sheer mix of emotions that were flooding me “I’ll marry you, you fucking prick. _Yes.”_

I think it was inevitable that we would both start crying, and that was the moment where the floodgates opened. He all but threw himself onto me after I had spoken, and the tears mixed with our kiss.

“I love you” He murmured, his head buried in my shoulder “I love you so much.”

“I know, love” I stroked his head, biting back further tears “I love you too.”

A few moments later, as if remembering himself, Snow pulled back, and rustled around in the grass for the ring box he had dropped in his haste, smiling at me sheepishly. I picked it up from where it had fallen, and handed it to him without a word.

Simon slowly opened the box, and lifted out one of the two rings that was laid inside. It was perfect; not too ornate, yet not too simple. He took my hands gingerly, as if he was afraid that I would wrench away if he made the wrong move. The ring slid easily onto my finger. Had he measured my ring size while I slept? I took the other ring from the box, and slid it gently onto his finger in return. There was a choked feeling in my throat as I did so, making it hard to swallow.

Simon gently pressed his head against mine, and whispered the three words inscribed inside each ring.

“Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch the Third, _I choose you_.”


End file.
